


Steel Ball Line

by Tollero



Series: Steel Ball Line AU [1]
Category: Redline (Anime), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Other, Redline AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tollero/pseuds/Tollero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Redline AU, or, Steel Ball Run But in Space.<br/>Johnny does his best in the Yellowline.<br/>*edit: fixed whatever typos i saw and added a pic done by meeeeee</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steel Ball Line

 

The constant threat of missiles, bullets, or any other projectiles were the only thing keeping Johnny from completely relaxing. You never knew what could come at you when racing; it could be anything, from any direction. But even so, he felt more calm than he had before, back when he was within the main group during the last three quarters of the race. Now he and his Slow Dancer- a somewhat ironic name, given its speed- were a good ten seconds ahead of the pack, cruising at breakneck speeds. He couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed racing so much. Yes, fighting tooth and nail was plenty exciting, especially since his own weapons were so close-ranged and risky to use, but his main pleasure came from winning. There was nothing like distancing yourself from the other racers, coming out on top with no contest. Johnny smiled.

A roaring from behind him made him tighten his grip on Slow Dancer's throttle, wrist turning forward in an attempt to get more speed. A peek into his side mirror revealed not a projectile but a vehicle: Smaller and more streamlined than his own, built more like a car compared to Slow Dancer's motorcycle-esque form, and apparently using a hover engine, judging by the fact it was a few feet off the ground. The roaring was coming from said engine, the parts of it that were visible spitting fire. He must've used nitro to catch up. Johnny squinted and reached into the joined pocket of his hoodie, pulling out one of his own nitro capsules before pushing it into its slot, sending it into his own engine. If he wanted to try for first, he was getting a challenge.

The other racer passed him before it kicked into gear, and Johnny could see him as he went by. A man, humanoid like him. The other's windshield was too dark to get a good look at him, but he could swear that the other turned to him and grinned a wide, golden grin before taking his place in front of Johnny. His own boost finally began to work, fire being emitted from the two exhaust pipes on either side of Slow Dancer before he rocketed forward, missing the other racer by mere inches. Johnny also managed to miss the track, having misjudged his distance from the next turn and his new found speed. He barreled off the road, barely managing to dodge the rocks along the sidelines of the course, hands bright white and red as he clutched his handlebars, trying to regain control of Slow Dancer. It rocked toward one side and he was so, so sure it would flip, that he would end up crushed beneath his ride, losing more than just his legs.

But it didn't. It righted itself and stopped as Johnny regained his breath, sweat beading and falling from his temples. He inhaled, slowly, shakily, before turning the throttle. He gave it moments to ease forward before twisting his wrist forward, sending himself shooting back toward the front. He had lost precious seconds. Johnny Joestar does not make mistakes, he does not stop focusing and send himself off the track, he does not waste nitro and he does not lose to lesser racers. Edging himself back into the main pack of racers once he was close to the course, he was met with his competitors trying to ram into him and send him back off. He retaliated of course, turning on his own defensive measures: buzzsaws coming out of Slow Dancer's sides and shotgun coming out of a compartment near Johnny. They backed off, already out of their own armaments and some vehicles barely staying together. He pushed ahead, toward the racer that had overtaken him. The finish line was nearing.

Johnny was beside the lime green and purple blur, hand around the throttle aching, the textured grip embedding itself into his skin. He released his other hand to shuffle around for his second nitro, but as he was, the other vehicle shuddered and spat fire. Its engine roared once again as it was propelled forward, leaving black scorch in its wake and literally leaving Johnny behind in the smoke. He heard a shout come up from the crowd surrounding the finish line and the announcer yell out a name, Gyro Zeppeli. His shoulders shook but he didn't slow down, rushing past the checkered flag and stopped vehicle of his opponent. He leaned into Slow Dancer's handles, panting fiercely. He had lost.

His legs were still shaking as he was lowered into his wheelchair, not of his own volition. Not that he could even feel it, really. He wiped at the remaining sweat on his forehead and cheeks, breathing coming easier than it had been. A loudspeaker was blaring above him, announcing the winner once again and thanking the rest of the contestants for participating in this year's Yellowline, betting payouts would be in another hour and the lineup for Redline would be announced in a few days. He shook his head. As he wheeled around his vehicle to survey the damage- bullet holes and the like- one of the other races pulled up beside him and stopped. Streamlined, small, lime green and purple. It made a gentle "clunk" as its hover engine was turned off, landing easily on the ground, and the windshield slid up. Its driver stepped out and slid down the hood, dressed in a color scheme like his vehicle's. He pushed his goggles up and hair back, away from his face. Johnny stopped examining his vehicle to watch him and locked eyes with the driver as he turned around. His golden smile was the opposite of Johnny's neutral frown, and it took all of his will to not turn away as he approached him.

"The famous Johnny Joestar! Or should I call you 'Joe Kid?' I've heard so much about you. You put up a good fight." A tanned, ring-covered hand offered itself to him. He hesitantly took it.

"You're Gyro Zeppeli, right? Thanks." He was probably just saying that to ease his sore feelings. He hadn't raced in years, he wasn't talked about anymore. Gyro's grin inched wider.

"No problem. I haven't been racing long, so it was an honor to beat you." If Johnny could frown any harder, he would. "I just got done talking to one of the insider people, and I wanted to congratulate you on getting into Redline. You knew, right?"

"Yeah, they told me after I won Blueline... You're probably in too, since you won, huh?" He nodded. "Good luck."

"The same to you." Another nod and smile, and Gyro went back to his vehicle, leaving Johnny there. His eyes followed him, frown returning to its usual blank position, then going to the floor. He turned back to Slow Dancer and ran a hand down its side, from one wheel to the hatch where its primary weapons were hidden. He hadn't seen Gyro use anything on the track. Was he keeping his weapons secret until Redline, or was he one of those people that didn't use them? Something about keeping the sanctity of the sport, most claimed, while others said they weighed the cars down too much. With a sigh, Johnny moved his hand and placed them of them on the wheels of his wheelchair, moving himself toward Gyro.

"Hey, Zeppeli. Can you tell me about your racer?" The other man turned back toward him, a shine in his eye.

"Of course! I'm always happy to talk about Valkyrie..."

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what motorcycles or cars are or how to end stuff


End file.
